


Your Desire?

by adrift_me



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Character death doesn't happen but is mentioned in regards to a major character from fbawtft, Desire Demon - Freeform, Djinni & Genies, Hand Jobs, Knockturn Alley, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Credence moves to the Knockturn Alley and starts a small magical trinkets shoppe. Things become interesting when a curious magical lamp is sold to his shop and it has not a simple genie but a desire demon residing in it.Three wishes, and everything Credence ever wanted would be at his feet and with no price to pay.





	Your Desire?

**Author's Note:**

> For the Gravebone "Guess Who?" challenge. Guess me? :)
> 
> Edit: Design of the genie is based on a Dragon Age desire demon.

Credence looked out of a dusty window which faced The Knockturn Alley. He could barely see anything outside, only shapeless silhouettes of dark witches and wizards hurrying about their business. Most of his view was closed by a variety of magical items, piling upon the wide windowsill of his shop and hanging down from a muddy cornice. Beads, books, items of unknown purpose and many others things were the decorations and merchandise of Credence’s little shoppe.

The outside wasn’t appealing, but Credence didn’t mind. If anything, it made up for a cozy wall around his habitat, a small blot on the Knockturn alley map, lost among the dozens of many other shops. Credence rubbed at his arms and continued watching the crowd move as time went by.

His mind snapped back to reality when a clock on the wall began striking its 2 hours to midnight sound. Credence sometimes wondered what was so special about this clock, for it had no obvious abilities or even signs of magic. But he kept it for his own use, which it dutifully fulfilled by telling him the working hours were over.

Credence closed the door with one flick of his hand (he still didn’t agree to use wands, following his mentor’s and lover’s fashion as well as the power of the obscurus) and turned his attention to the items which were sold to him today. Most of them were cheap little things, barely worth a galleon. His little shoppe surely couldn’t compare to the one of Borgin and Burkes’, but he made the ends meet and enjoyed what he was doing immensely.

Credence lined the items in a straight horizontal line on a shabby wooden desk with bronzed ends. He took the smallest trinket in his hands, a small pendant with barely any value, a small blueish gem gleaming at the top of its carved cover. Other few items were a china set with the ugliest design Credence had ever seen. Horrific twisted faces were decorating the cups and the teapot, making it the least pleasant piece for a tea party. There was also a stack of magical books, one of which had a threatening amount of blood-like stains, and an empty frame of a golden mirror, wiped out of all shards.

At last, Credence’s hands touched the item he was most curious about. A lamp, a magical lamp, sold for a ridiculous handful of sickles. A beautiful carved decoration with a massive intricately carved handle and an elegant curve of a spout. It looked as if a fairy tale book illustration came to life.

Credence only laid his hands on such books a few years ago when he followed Newt from New York to London. Spending days inside the case, trying his best not to go mad with grief over his cruel family, over the only man he ever truly trusted, over his own misfortune, he could only save himself with books that Newt provided. In later days Newt suggested Credence joined him in traveling, but the boy felt he wanted to root down and avoid adventures as much as he could. Even after years of loneliness, he sought peaceful solitude in the company of his own thoughts which were no longer threatened by whipping leather and cruel words. He was his own man.

Newt pulled a few connections to help Credence open a small magical trinkets shoppe (he was taken aback by Credence’s decision to settle down in the Knockturn Alley, but didn’t argue). Credence’s mysterious and somewhat dangerous appearance must have played its role as the shoppe was soon filled with regulars, their eyes grazing the young owner with cautious curiosity.

Another reason he didn’t feel like moving on from darkness was that it never truly left him. Despite his life becoming better, he couldn’t simply let go of his memories of Mr. Graves. Months after the incident, perhaps longer since his disappearance - and there was still no word of the man, no trace. Credence braved as much as sending an anonymous owl to MACUSA with an inquiry, which was never replied to. Desperate and fevered with love, the young man denied himself any mingling with people. The wound on the heart bled.

He did enjoy collecting old things which held as much pain and dark past as he did. And this lamp undoubtedly ought to have had a most interesting past.

The Knockturn Alley followed its name, devoured by night. Credence stuffed the new items under the desk in a box, rolled down the curtains on windows and the door and made his way upstairs to the small one-room flat.

The lamp he carried with him in trembling hands.

As he ate his scarce dinner, his gaze was transfixed on the lamp. What a piece of art it was! Its dull surface had a composite ornamented motive, a branch with vines and a bunch of hanging grapes. The vine was wrapped by a thin snake with a dangerously sharp open mouth, parted tongue flicking out. The religious upbringing inside the young man yelled against such an obvious temptation, but Credence brushed it off, instead focusing on the artsy pleasure of its image.

Setting aside his plate, he impatiently brought the lamp closer to his eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure what attracted him so much in this item, was it its artistry or a magical connection? There was a certain vintage charm about this thing, but the charm of mysteriousness was stronger.

And a small, tiniest quiet voice whispered at Credence that it looked exactly like a fairytale lamp would. What if he rubbed it? Would a sophisticated poof of purplish steam exude from the pointy spout, revealing a shape of a genie? Three wishes, and everything Credence ever wanted would be at his feet and with no price to pay. He already had his first wish on the tip of his tongue, “ _ please, bring Mr. Graves back _ ”, ready to slip and be fulfilled.

Credence’s long shaking hands touched the lamp and rubbed it a little.

Nothing happened. No magical grandeur, no fanfares. Not a single noise or a purple sparkle. Despair clang to his insides and squeezed his heart like a ripe fruit.

“What a delightful young man!”

A thousand voices exploded behind Credence and he dropped the lamp. Loudly it scattered away across the desk, and Credence wildly looked around, but saw nothing.

“Please, don’t move around quite so much, it makes it so much more complicated to avoid your gaze, and it annoys me. Let’s help each other out there, shall we?”

Credence, suddenly paralyzed with fear, obeyed. He stared at the dull bronze side of the convex base of the lamp, and swallowed. What he was hearing was rather peculiar, a meld of many voices, from female to male, from something ethereal to something rather earthly.

“Why don’t you want to be seen?” his own voice seemed small in comparison and he winced.

“Because if I show myself to you in my true form, you would go mad immediately, and what is the fun in that! You have called me to have fun after all, haven’t you?”

“Not exactly,” Credence mumbled, grief overwhelming the fear.

“Well, have fun we shall.”

There was a pause and Credence felt a whiff of cologne. His heartbeat raced - he would recognize it even in death. A feeling so familiar, warm and comforting embraced him and he immersed himself in it. How many times this very smell accompanied the happiest memories of his past! Whenever he felt it, he knew that Mr. Graves was coming, delivering him from the misfortunes of his cruel life.

It snapped back in his mind. Mr. Graves. He couldn’t be there. Credence didn’t ask. Mr. Graves was--

“Stop it. Please,” Credence muttered.

“Why?”

The young man’s heart missed a beat. A deception so painful, Mr. Graves was now replying to him. 

“Does this not make you happy, darling Credence? Is this not the wish you desired?”

Credence closed his eyes. And nodded.

“All you need to do is to let go. And I will always be beside you. You won’t have to be alone again, Credence.”

Credence felt a betraying tear roll down his cheek. Pressed his lips and shook his head in agreement. If he kept his eyes closed, Mr. Graves might as well have been there. And it could be his hands, gently massaging the two spots on both sides of his neck, thumbs gentle and caressing.

“I miss you, Mr. Graves.”

“It’s alright, my boy. I miss you too.”

Credence felt the air about him move. Arms pressed around him, scratchy chin nuzzling in the curve of his neck. Something he craved for, something he missed ever since Mr. Graves hugged him for the first time so many months ago.

It felt so real.

“I  _ am _ real, my boy. As real as you desire me to be.”

“Could I turn around? See you now?”

“But you don’t want to. If you were to look, it is not me you will see.”

Credence huffed and let himself be cradled by the arms he could not look at.

“We could do anything. A whole night before us and we could do anything you ask.”

Credence wavered. On one hand, his mind kept on saying that it wasn't, couldn't be the real Mr. Graves. On the other hand, Credence felt his very touches, heard his very voice. His cologne on his own neck. If he didn't and couldn't see, at least he could hear and feel and who was to say then that it wasn't true. 

He rose from the chair, back still turned to the being. 

“Touch me, please. I want to believe.”

Arms sneaked around him and let Credence sway, fall into a lie which, perhaps, wasn't such a lie after all. He could remember vividly how Mr. Graves was calming him with this very embrace. He was gentle and careful in his caress. And this time was not different. 

But also this time Credence wanted more than a caress. If he were to use up his wish, it would be to feel Mr. Graves and to know what his hands were like and what they could do. 

“Would you want me to be closer, Credence?”

Mr. Graves’ hand moved an upper button of the shirt into a slit, then another one and one more, baring Credence's chest. Credence threw his head back where it fit perfectly in the man's neck and alongside his jaw. 

His breathing hitched when eager hands slipped under the fabric of his shirt. Fingers pressed circles and lines into his skin, nails grazing lightly and teasingly. Another hand stroked his hip, confident and possessive movements over the thick fabric of his trousers. Credence swayed into the touch. Eyes closed, he turned his face, and his lips met Mr. Graves’ jaw where cologne tasted sweetly. It was so easy with Mr. Graves, giving him love and taking it too. And the way his forehead creased as he frowned in an effort of pleasing, caught in the strongest tide of feelings. Credence want to see it so much, his eyes fluttered open--

“Did we not agree, Credence? Did I not ask?”

Cold whip of a strict voice. Credence hunched immediately, warmth of Mr. Graves’ back gone. Only his hand on the hip, steady and just as possessive as before. 

“I'm sorry. I’m sorry, I forgot…” Credence bleated. A strong hold on his hip softened.

“Let me take care of this, my darling boy,” Mr. Graves’ voice took its honey-sweet tone again. Credence nodded and kept his eyes shut, listening to a soft rustle of fabric. 

His eyelashes tickled the soft folds of a silken scarf, covering his eyes and putting him in complete darkness. He could feel a tight knot being made at the back of his skull and then a gentle rub of fingers on both sides of his neck.

“Anything you don’t like, you tell me at once. Is that alright, Credence?” Mr. Graves’ voice poured in his ears, calming and invigorating at the same time. Credence made a small agreeing noise somewhere deep in his throat.

“Good boy.”

As if eager to start from where they paused, Mr. Graves’ hands once again began their sweet caress. But now with Credence not seeing and not being able to see, the man took a turn at teasing. Large hands covered the inner side of his thigh and Credence felt an embarrassing shaking in his legs. It was all too good. But it could be even better. 

“Let's help you get out of this, shall we?”

Fumbling with a buckle, perfectly calculated “accidental” touches to where it felt best - and Credence was stood in the room, dressed only in his underwear. Lack of tight friction was upsetting, but Mr. Graves made up for it with another round of teasing, his finger rubbing around Credence’s groin. 

Somehow Mr. Graves was always one step ahead of Credence. Whatever fancy graced his mind, whatever fevered fantasy, immediately Mr. Graves brought it to live with touches and kisses. He drove Credence mad by never quite touching him, but slowly teasing his cock into getting harder, wetting the insides of his small clothes with slick pre-cum. 

Credence's legs shook again when Mr. Graves moaned into his neck, pushing himself to the side of Credence. He blushed as he felt something unmistakingly hard rut against his hip. 

One step back, another step back - and Credence was seated in the lap of his lover, his back turned to his chest. He couldn’t see a single thing, and without that all his senses went awry. With so much touching, even if it was just the feeling of Mr. Graves’ legs and hardness under his own legs and the heat of his chest on Credence’s back, he found it hard to collect his concentration. All he was certain about was that he  _ wanted _ to be touched.

Mr. Graves’ arms surrounded him, sneaked around his waist. It made Credence’s body muscles jolt wherever the man’s fingers hovered. He couldn’t help a tingling sensation inside his chest and lower, in his abdomen. Couldn’t help feeling how it unraveled inside him with every following caress Mr. Graves granted him.

“Credence… already?” he could hear a smile in the man’s voice and it made him blush. After all, what could he do to prevent himself from going hard with want when Mr. Graves’ hands slid down his sides and onto his hips, lowering down the inner side of his thighs and spreading his legs. Making him even more vulnerable than he was. But after all, these touches weren’t there to make him ashamed. Credence trusted Mr. Graves, especially when it came to such matters.

One of the man’s hands smoothed over his thigh and closer to his hard cock. How Credence wanted that hand to be on him, even if it was separated from velvety skin with a thin layer of his underwear fabric.

But even like that Mr. Graves didn’t stop. His fingers brushed where the hard bulge was, and Credence let out an involuntary needy whine. Mr. Graves’ chuckle resonated lowly on Credence’s back.

“What is it, Credence? Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes, sir,” Credence couldn’t find strength to his voice. 

His throat made a sound he didn't know he could do, when he felt a hand slip into his underwear. Mr. Graves was exploring, curious and maddening touches under his balls, pushing rubbing of his shaft with a thumb. Credence's hands darted blindly towards the chair's edges, his body giving an oversensitive jolt yet again. The head of his cock rubbed at the underwear fabric wetly. He wished he could see it with his own eyes, how Mr. Graves’ hand owned him in the most pleasant manner, but the blindfold and images in his head was all he could hope for. 

“You fell so quiet, Credence.

“I… I am…”

But he couldn't say a word. What he managed to croak out was a pathetic sex-hoarse mutter. 

“I need to hear you, Credence. How am I to know you are enjoying it? Just a sound. For me.”

Credence felt blood rush to his cheeks. His chest was tight with a lack of breath, let alone his voice. 

“Please, Credence, I need it.”

He whined a little, cheeks turning even redder with shame. 

“Is that it? Is that all you feel?”

He moaned, but Mr. Graves was unrelenting. His thumb consistently went up and down the base of Credence’s cock. The routine-ish feeling made Credence more and more aroused as it stimulated his nerves. With every stroke he found more confidence in his voice, unafraid to let the dirty needy sounds escape his throat and yet it was not enough for Mr. Graves. Credence huffed and with a burning feeling of embarrassment groaned loudly. Just before the sound left his throat, Mr. Graves’ hand slipped around his shaft and moved upwards, making Credence arch and badmouth in one breath. 

“So much better, Credence, keep going”. 

And he did, for it was so much easier to moan out Mr. Graves’ name when that man's hand pumped him, thoroughly and mercilessly, distracting him from courteous careful choice of words. Even more so, he found it entertaining to spit out dirty words in between his moaning and whining. His reward was a harder hand and a faster stroke. Despite his cock being out of the underwear, the friction of the fabric below remained and added to the burning tingling which spread from his cock and to the toes.

It wasn't long until he arched, pushing madly into Mr. Graves’ hand as it dripped with his come, and muttering his name incoherently, voice raspy. His cock was now lying in comfort in the man's hold and Credence had no desire or energy to move, aftershocks of an orgasm making him numb and trembling.

“What a good boy you are, Credence,” Mr. Graves’ wet mouth whispered in his ear. His hand lazily moved up and down Credence’s length, slowly and barely touching, leading him out of the tensed up feeling. “Such dirty words in your mouth and how good they sound.”

Credence huffed and pressed his sweaty frowning face in Mr. Graves’ neck. His lips sloppily kissed the same spot again and again until he was certain even from under the blindfold that Mr. Graves’ skin was marked by him.

He sighed.

“Now, Credence. Are you ready for your second wish?”


End file.
